Mexican salsa, an appreciation

Pick up another tortilla chip and dip into the Mexican salsa. The salty crunch of the chip mixes with the smooth, dense, flavorful, spicy kick of the salsa in the well-known ritual on any afternoon or at any occasion. But Mexico’s greatest gift to cooking goes beyond college fare and bar staples. It is the ultimate comfort food.

“Comfort food” got its name for a reason: it brings you back to that place where the hardest problems in the world slip away one bite at a time. It is a deeply held, personal experience. It stubbornly resists attempts to politicize it or package it in a grocery box for mass consumption.

I have a few comfort foods. Most of mine should be made, not bought, because the process of making food is itself a comforting, life-affirming act. Here is one of my best and easiest comfort foods:

Basic green salsa, the starting point

Roughly chop six – not seven, not five, but six – fresh jalapeño peppers. Remove, if desired, the seeds and white ribs inside them where most of the heat lives. Toss them into a blender with chopped white onion, a clove of garlic, a healthy handful of cilantro, oregano, salt, pepper. Add a dash of red wine vinegar for some reason. Warn people with sensitivities to leave the room (I’m not kidding about this), and then blend it all up and pour the results into a bowl. The result is dynamite.

To make red salsa, start with a bowl of chopped tomatoes and add spoonfuls of that green salsa until you get the level of heat you want.

Roasted garlic

Fresh cilantro

Fresh serrano chiles

Simmering ingredients for red salsa

Mexican salsa comes in many forms, but this one is mine. It is a gift of my grandfather who made it as often as he could for as long as I could remember. It is unnaturally bright green, deep in rich and complex flavors, and burning hot. This is the base green sauce, the beginning from which so much taste, culture, and family history arises.

There are as many recipes for salsa as there are people in the world. Much like other national dishes – deceptively simple, culturally complex, sources of pride and comfort – salsa invites experimentation with new ideas alongside a remembrance of how things always were.

For this reason it also invites strong opinions and firm convictions on what and what salsa isn’t, and even, unfortunately, who should and should not be making it.

But for me salsa is just one thing: It starts in my grandparents’ kitchen where a tub of red salsa proudly sat at the table. It found it way onto any nearby plate: chips for sure, but also rice, pasta, soups, meats, salads, sandwiches, toast, eggs. Even Thanksgiving dinner.

That actual tub that held the salsa was often, much to my grandmother’s chagrin, a repurposed margarine container. “Why is there plastic on my kitchen table?!” she wailed in dismay. My grandfather shrugged and went on eating his breakfast toast slathered with butter and salsa.

They lived in a retirement community in Southern California, close to our home and full of amenities but perhaps not always full of the kind of life they sought out.

“The problem with this place,” my grandfather often said, “is that there are too many old people.”

Being a retirement community, its residents faced special medical needs and, most of all, dealt with the realities of approaching the end of life. One morning at breakfast, I sat with my grandmother and we looked out the window as an ambulance streaked by, sirens blaring. “There goes another one,” she said.

My grandfather made his burning hot but outrageously flavorful salsa for my high school friends one afternoon. They proceeded to eat it with chips in big, greedy gulps. “I can’t stop eating this,” one said while sweat and tears rolled down his face. “It’s so painfully hot but so delicious!”

I have never seen my grandfather with a greater look of pride on his face than when my friends devoured his food.

Salsa simmered with earthy red chiles

Cooked or simmered salsas are good with tomatillos or the dried red chiles that often find themselves stashed in the “Latino” or “Hispanic Foods” section or, worse, the “International Foods” section of a grocery store rather than in the produce section, where they belong.

Toast the red peppers on a comal or a cast iron skillet (though I often skip this step) and simmer them in water with halved white onions, garlic, fresh serrano peppers. Remove from the water once they are softened, add a little bit of the cooking water, salt, pepper, cilantro, and oregano, and blend away.

Here’s the problem: The skin from dried chiles is (to me) indigestible and annoying. I prefer to either: 1) scrape the cooked pepper flesh away from from the skin and throw it into the blender or 2) run the blended salsa through a sieve fine enough to remove the tiny chunks of chopped skin.

The most satisfying way to solve this problem is to open up each soaked chile, remove the seeds and with a knife scrape the flesh away from the skin. It can be messy and time consuming, but then what’s the hurry? Salsa-making is an intentional, deeply personal Zen moment.

Finally, if you want to feel even more Zen-like then use a molcajete instead of a blender. A stony mortar and pestle with a rough surface, molcajetes are great for grinding the ingredients and creating a more interesting, less puree-like salsa.

Don’t listen to the critics about which techniques or ingredients are somehow more “authentic”. Salsa will survive no matter what it is made of or who makes it. We all have our limits though: I’ll let you use your own judgment if you really want to get that store-bought stuff made in – wait for it – New York City.

However you do your Mexican salsa, the result will be a deep and satisfying addition to tacos, quesadillas, salads, meats, or just a big bag of chips. And that’s really all that matters.

Basic Salsas

There are many more varieties and recipes than here. These are my go-to salsas, the ones that I make most often. Try other things like pineapple and mango mixed with chopped jalapeños, onions and cilantro. Check out Diana Kennedy’s fantastic cookbook and personal narrative, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico for more ideas on Mexican salsa.

Add all ingredients to a blender. For a hotter salsa, add the seeds to the blender; otherwise, discard them. Pulse blender until pureed to desired consistency. Pour into a glass or ceramic container. Store in refrigerator for up to 1-2 weeks.

Fresh Red Tomato Salsa

Green Salsa Base (above)
2-3 lbs Fresh tomatoes, or
1 12 oz. can chopped or crushed tomatoes
Salt and pepper to taste.
Add tomatoes to a glass or ceramic container. Add Green Salsa Base, one tablespoon at a time, stirring thoroughly, until you reached desired level of heat. If it is too hot, then add more tomatoes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Salsa with Red Chiles

1 package dried chile peppers, such as chipotle, New Mexico, pasilla, ancho, chile del arbol, guajillo, and more. Each one has a slightly different flavor, so experiment with different kinds and combinations
3-4 fresh serrano chiles
3-4 cloves fresh or roasted garlic
1 TBSP, at least, dried or fresh oregano
½-cup fresh cilantro, whole or loosely chopped
1-2 white or yellow onions, cut in half or quarters
Salt and pepper to taste.

Optionally toast chiles over an open flame or on a cast iron skillet. Simmer chiles, garlic and onions in water until soft, approximately 10-15 minutes. Using tongs remove serranos, onions and garlic and add to blender.

Remove red chiles to a cutting board. With a sharp knife, open them lengthwise and remove the seeds and ribs. For a hotter salsa, add the seeds to the blender; otherwise, discard them. Place the chiles skin-side down on cutting board. With the blade facing away from you, gently scrape chiles toward you. The fleshy inside of the chiles will separate from the skins. Add this to the blender and discard the skins.

Add all remaining ingredients to blender and add the cooked water, about ¼ cup at a time. Pulse and continuing adding the water until desired consistency is reached. Pour into a glass or ceramic container. Add salt and pepper to taste. Store in refrigerator for up to 1-2 weeks.

Empty can of chipotles and tomatoes into a blender. Add oregano, cilantro and garlic. Add onions for a smooth salsa; for a chunky salsa, add onions after blending.
Pulse blender until desired puree consistency is reached. For a chunky salsa, add chopped onions. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Pour into a glass or ceramic container. Store in refrigerator for up to 1-2 weeks.

Remove husks from tomatillos and discard. Cut tomatillos into halves or quarters and simmer in water until soft, approximately 10-15 minutes. If using onions, simmer them as well. Put tomatillos and onions into blender and add green salsa base or serrano chiles, garlic, cilantro and oregano.

Add salt and pepper to taste. Pour into a glass or ceramic container. Store in refrigerator for up to 1-2 weeks.